Try Again
by CreamLemon
Summary: Jobless and homeless, Trent shows up at Daria and Jane's front door looking for a place to stay.  His presence has a hug impact on Daria.  Not only is her crush back, but he's making her think about art and money, and which one is more important.


Second Chances

A/N:

I hope I got everyone right. Trent was the easiest to write, I think, and the most fun.

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Daria poked her head into Jane's room. Her best friend was splayed out face down on the bed on top of the sheets, snoring softly. Daria couldn't help but smile a little, Jane's position in bed reminding her of the way she had seen Trent sleep once or twice. Over the years Daria had met all of the Lanes, but Jane and Trent were the only two that seemed like actual siblings. "Jane," Daria said sharply.

Jane's head jerked up. "Huh? What?"

"You have class in half an hour."

"Oh. Thanks." Her head fell back down. Daria shook her head and stepped down the hall, her boots clunking on the hard wood floor. Trent. She hadn't thought of him in forever. Lawndale was three years ago-the world of Lawndale seemed alien and distant to her now. She poured milk over her cereal, musing. They were a few weeks into her senior year at Raft, and Jane's at BFAC. So much had changed, but Jane was still the only person she could really talk to, and even if she was hard to live with sometimes, Daria would rather put up with her eccentricities than lose her.

They lived in the top two floors of a large converted 1800's town house a few blocks from school. Jane had the entire attic to herself, the large space working as both bedroom and studio, while Daria had a small bedroom off of their living room. The kitchen was small, but neither she nor Jane were much for cooking, and overall it suited them well. Now in their senior years, they had been in the place for two years, and their landlady was so impressed with college students who didn't make noise or wreck her house, that she gave them a discount.

Daria was just about to walk out the door when Jane appeared, awake and dressed. "Leaving without me?" she asked, and Daria held open the door to let her pass.

The two schools were within two miles of each other, and the house was nearly in the middle. Daria hopped on her bicycle while Jane climbed into the car they shared. Daria didn't care that she had her drivers' license-the bike was so much less stressful.

Jane waved as she passed her down the street before the car turned left and Daria turned right. Daria smiled, the late summer air blowing though her hair as she coasted downhill towards campus. She had never been as happy as she was in Boston. Sometimes she smiled against her will. She couldn't help it.

That evening Daria sat at the dining room table working on a paper for one of her English classes. Even as a senior she knew she could practically teach the class, and was looking forward to grad school when she actually would be teaching classes. Her mind started to wander towards a future of tenure and summer vacations off (and preferably spent in Europe) when someone knocked at the door.

"Who could that be?" Daria said, looking up from her computer. She went to the door and nearly jumped in surprise at the person waiting on the landing, "Trent?"

He had a couple days' beard on his chin and was wearing a faded black t-shirt and torn grey jeans. He held his guitar in one hand and had a duffle bag thrown over one shoulder. "Hey Daria. Long time no see. Mind if I come in?"

"Sure," she said, stepping aside to let him in. He walked into the living room, setting his things down by the door. "Hey, Jane," she called. Jane appeared wearing a paint covered smock with a paintbrush tucked behind one ear.

"Trent!" Jane's face broke into a smile and she rushed to hug her brother, leaving streaks of red and orange across his front, but he didn't seem to notice. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Mom and Dad lost the house," he said with a shrug.

"What!"

"They kind of' forgot to pay the mortgage."

"That doesn't surprise me," Jane said. She eyed the bag on the floor. "So where are you staying?"

"Well, I was hoping I could crash here until I can get on my feet." He surveyed the room. "Your couch looks comfy. Much nicer than a park bench."

"What about the band? Couldn't you stay with Jessie or Max or someone?"

"Jessie and Monique just had their second kid…Max is living with his mom…and besides, we don't really play together anymore."

"Are you telling me the band broke up?"

"Well, Jessie had to get a real job, and that really cut into our practice time. I guess the Spiral just wasn't meant to make it big. It's okay. I'll get over it."

His expression didn't look like he was going to get over it, and Daria surprised herself by opening her mouth. "Of course you can stay here, Trent," she said, regretting her words as soon as she said them. Jane gave her a wary look. "As long as you need," she continued, knowing she had just said something terrible.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll just go get the rest of my stuff out of the car."

As soon as he was gone Jane glared at her. "Why did you do that?" she demanded.

Daria shrugged. "He just looked so sad…"

"Like a lost puppy. That happens when he's begging." Jane sighed. "I would have caved too," she said. "You realize we've just screwed ourselves."

"Maybe he's changed," Daria offered. "Maybe he's matured."

"Not bloody likely."

"It'll only be for a few weeks."

"Say that again in a year," Jane said, and stalked back off to her room.

Daria stared at the bag and guitar and imagined the living room in two weeks-dirty clothes strewn about, dead pizza buried under dead pizza under dead pizza all over the coffee table. She was just starting to imagine the smells of unwashed human male when Trent started thumping on the door.

She opened it just as he raised his foot to kick again. He was carrying a keyboard and stand. "How much stuff do you have?"

"Just what would fit in the car," he admitted. "I had to leave a lot behind. It's hard finding yourself suddenly homeless."

"I'm sure it is," Daria agreed, only half-gently. Jane was right. He did look more pitiful when he was begging. "So you don't have a whole drum kit in there, do you? I don't think we have the space."

"Just a pair of tom-toms. I'll try not to be in your way."

"About that," Daria said carefully. "How long do you think you're going to stay?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm going to have to get a job. I've never done that before. I don't really know how…" He sat down on the couch. "This is a comfy couch."

"Thanks," Daria said, sitting down beside him. He didn't smell unwashed at all, and somewhere a feeling nearly five years dead tingled to life in her stomach. "I know this seems terrible right now," she said carefully. "But sometimes when bad things happen we end up being forced to do things we normally wouldn't, and those things turn out to be good. You know?"

"Not really." The air went silent between them as Daria didn't know what else to say. "Thanks though," he said finally.

Jane re-appeared paint free, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The brush was still tucked behind her ear. "So you guys want to go get a pizza or something?"

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"This place is pretty cool," Trent said as they pulled up to the pizza shop near Raft. "I can see why the two of you like it here." The street, called the Strip, was lined with galleries, bars, and boutiques. All of the stores were independently run. Across the street from the pizza parlor was a used book store and café that Daria frequented several times a week. She liked to go on open mike night and laugh at the performers. Hell, sometimes they were even good.

"There's no place in Lawndale quite like it," Jane agreed. They ordered a pie with everything and found a booth. Jane and Trent both slipped in on either side of the table, leaving Daria to choose which Lane to sit next to. Her first instinct was to sit next to Trent, but that would lead to embarrassing accusations from her best friend, and Daria didn't want them flashing back to age sixteen.

"Maybe I should have moved out of Lawndale years ago," Trent continued. "Maybe I would have been able to get somewhere…you know…somewhere. I feel old. I'm almost thirty you know."

"You're twenty-seven," Jane said. "You have a few years." "I'm old," he said again. "I haven't done anything with my life."

"And if you keep feeling sorry for yourself you'll never get anywhere." Daria blinked, immediately regretting what had just come out of her mouth. Jane and Trent were staring at her. "I didn't mean-"

"No," Trent said. "You're right, dammit. I need to get out and do something. I'm gonna do it, Daria. First thing tomorrow I'm gonna get my act together and make something of myself."

Daria turned to give Jane a look, and Jane was looking right back at her.

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Getting back from pizza Daria set Trent up with sheets and pillows and took her computer into her room, ready to get some work done that evening. She had a paper due in a few days and hoped to pound out the whole thing that evening, but she couldn't focus. She stared at the words on her screen, too aware that Trent Lane was in the other room. After some silence she heard the strumming of an acoustic guitar. It had been a long time since she had heard any of Trent's stuff. Three years, in fact. "I think he's improved," she said to herself. She doubted that he would actually follow through with his plan of doing something with himself. The concept was almost as unrealistic as the fantasies she used to have about him. She sighed. If only he would realize what he could do out in the world, like Jane.

It had taken some encouraging-much encouraging-but not only was Jane going to graduate, she'd had a few semi-successful shows around town and she was training with a tattoo artist on the Strip. Jane was on her way, and she worked hard for it. Trent could do the same, if he only tried.

Eventually she shut down the computer and pulled on her pajamas, crawling into bed. Fantasizing about him now would be absurd, she knew. She was so much older. She'd had several boyfriends in the past years. She'd even slept with one of them. They had all been intelligent, good looking, and rich. At some point each one of them had gone over-board in one category or another, and she couldn't deal with that.

Saul liked to show off his fancy car and designer labels, but he had always tipped exactly fifteen percent, even if they were just getting coffee. Gerald liked to show off being smart, which didn't particularly bother Daria, until one day he claimed to be smarter than _her._ And then there was Will, who was so beautiful behind his Doc Martens and plastic framed glasses that she had a moment of weakness and lost her virginity. Unfortunately he was the hottest assistant professor on campus, and she soon found out she wasn't the only one who'd given up their virginity to him.

Trent was none of those things. He wasn't an idiot or ugly, but he was no underwear model Einstein. And he was the poorest person she knew. The only thing he had in common with any of the men she'd dated was that he was five years older than her. Dating accomplished, clean-cut men had never gotten her anywhere, even with Tom back in high school. Maybe her sixteen year old instincts had been right the first time.

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Ch 2

In the morning Daria got up even earlier than usual, slipping into the bathroom with her arms full of clothes, dressing and showering behind closed doors. She pulled on jeans and an orange t-shirt. It was a hold-over from high school, thin and faded, and tighter than it used to be, but comfortable and familiar. She hadn't worn it in forever. The boots she pulled on were almost new-only a year old.

She was quiet when she stepped into the living room and kitchen area. Trent was splayed across the couch wearing only wearing a tank top and a pair of striped boxers. She tried not to stare as she walked by and started the coffee pot. Since she had the time she decided to actually cook, and soon she had a skillet sizzling with eggs and bacon. Breakfast was the only food she knew how to cook.

"Do I smell bacon?" Trent's voice reached her and she turned to see his head popping up from the couch. "And coffee?"

"Do you want some breakfast?" Daria offered.

"I don't usually eat breakfast in the morning," he said, "but I think I can be convinced." He yawned and rolled off the couch, walking to the bathroom in his boxers. Daria cursed herself as she watched his ass go down the hall.

"Get it together Morgendorffer," Daria muttered. At least she'd gotten over the whole blushing and rash thing. When he reemerged, still not looking very awake, she called over to him, "Could you wake up Jane?" Yes. That was normal.

"Sure," he said, and disappeared up the narrow stairs to Jane's attic.

Trent reappeared a few minutes later and approached the coffee maker. Daria took a mug from the cupboard and slid it across the counter to him. "Thanks Daria." He poured coffee and sat down on one of the stools clustered around the large island in the kitchen that doubled as their dining area.

Jane appeared as Daria was dishing up the plates. "Trent," she said with a groan, "why aren't you wearing pants?"

"Oh, sorry. I kinda got used to not wearing them once you were out of the house." He got up and picked his pants off the floor. Daria tried not to watch him pull them on. Not only could she not resist, but Jane noticed.

They ate breakfast in silence, the two Lanes still asleep and Daria too embarrassed to speak. When she started to clean up Jane miraculously woke up, grabbing her arm. "C'mon Daria. I have a painting I want to show you. Trent, you're freeloading-load the dish washer."

"Chores?"

"It's part of that whole making something of yourself. Earn your keep."

Jane pulled Daria up to her room. "So where's this painting?" Daria asked, knowing this had nothing to do with art.

"You were looking at my brother."

"Of course I was. I'm not exactly accustomed to having nearly naked men wandering around in my kitchen."

"No, no. You have that same look you had when you brought that Will asshole over. Only different. That was your 'turned on' look. This one is the same, only there's some substance behind it."

"I didn't know I had 'looks.' "

"We've known each other for too long, Daria. It's not an obvious look, but its there. I want you to think very carefully. Daria, don't you remember what you decided way back in high school?"

"Maybe he really will get his act together this time," Daria offered. "Maybe we've been wrong about him being a slacker."

"I don't think so."

"You're his sister. You should give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Maybe, but _you_ shouldn't. Daria, I love my brother, you know I do. But he's not the right kind of guy for you. I don't want you to be disappointed again."

Daria crossed her arms over her chest. "You seemed happy enough to encourage me the last time this happened."

"We all do crazy things in our youth. Being in love with my brother was one of those things for you. But you are old and wise now. You want someone who's in it for the long haul, someone who's your equal."

"Maybe I just want some fun," Daria suggested. "Maybe my emotions have nothing to do with this and I just think he has a hot ass."

"It's not that hot, and you know it. That's how I know you're about to take this way too seriously. Nip it in the bud now Daria."

"Nothing will ever happen anyway," Daria said, feeling a little depressed. "It's not like he's any more interested in me now than he was five years ago."

"That's the spirit!"

Daria returned downstairs. The dishwasher was loaded, but Trent had gotten stuck on the soap. "Here," Daria said, leaning over and taking the bottle out of his hand. She brushed against him when she did so, and her face did color that time. [He doesn't like you] she told herself. [It doesn't matter.] She showed him how to set the washer and hit the start button.

"Thanks Daria," he said as she straightened up. "You know, you look different."

"I do?"

"Yeah. Kind of…rounder." [Rounder?] "What happened to that green jacket you used to wear all the time?"

"Um, it was old. It finally fell apart."

"Too bad," he said. "I know it was your favorite. 'Course, I think you look better without it."

"Er, thanks." She went back into her room to grab her backpack. "Did he just call me fat?" She caught a glance at her reflection in the mirror on the back of her door and noticed just how tight her t-shirt was. "Oh God. Rounder." She had put on some weight since starting college, but most of it was in the chest. It wasn't bad weight, really. She'd just finally succeeded in growing all the feminine curves that had been missing in her adolescence. Paired with smaller glasses, she was decent looking. More than, according to Jane (and, she supposed, Saul, Gerald, and Will).

Her first instinct was to burn the shirt and hide in a muumuu, but then she would be acknowledging that he noticed. She would wear the shirt. Trent was still staring at the dishwasher when she returned. "You don't have to wait for it," she offered.

"The rhythm of the water moving sounds interesting," he said. He looked up. "Going to school?"

"Yeah."

"Want a ride?"

"That's okay-I have a bike." She wasn't sure she could handle sitting in a car with him where he could notice her roundness. "Oh, the newspaper is over there on the counter, if you want to go looking for jobs."

"Cool."

"And try to get Jane out of the house before noon."

"Okay."

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It was a relief to get away from Trent and get some perspective during her classes. Trent was just a friend, nothing more. They had settled into friendship for several years before Daria left and that was where they were going to stay. She threw herself into her lectures, paying more attention and taking more notes than usual, but by mid afternoon her mind was wandering.

Her last class of the day was Intermediate Creative Writing. She wasn't actually a student in the class-she was Dr. Nelson's assistant, a job usually only given to grad students. She did some light secretarial type work, but she also got to give constructive criticism for his creative writing classes-all three of them. It was practically a full time job, reading poorly crafted attempts at literature taking up a large portion of her time. That afternoon the students were being less constructive in their criticism than they should be to Molly, a small, mousy Junior that Daria usually enjoyed.

"…I don't know, the characters aren't exactly realistic, are they?"

"They're not supposed to be. It's a _gothic_ romance," Molly explained. "A popular genre back in the early 19th century. Daria, back me up here."

Daria shook herself out of a daydream where Trent had decided to go to music school and become a classic musician. "What? Frankenstein." Somewhere the words 'gothic' and '19th century' had seeped into her skull. The room was staring at her. "Is an early example of gothic literature."

"You see," Molly said. "That's not realistic, is it?"

Daria did her best to pay attention the rest of the class, but Dr. Nelson detained her when their time was up. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "You're never this inattentive."

"I'm sorry," Daria said, feeling honestly guilty. "You're right. I promise it wont happen again."

"Okay." He handed her a sheaf of papers. "Could you get these photo copied for me before you leave?"

"No problem."

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A short time later Daria found herself home again. Trent was at least dressed, but asleep on the couch. The newspaper had not been touched. [ See where your daydreaming gets you? ] she chided herself. She sighed and let her backpack thump to the floor, picking up the paper and finding a marker. She opened it to the help wanted section and started circling ads for him.

Jane came home while she was still circling. "You've gotten really pitiful really fast, amiga," she muttered, opening the fridge.

"Shh," Daria hissed. "You'll wake him. And the sooner he gets a job the sooner he's off the couch."

"That's not why you want him to get a job," Jane said, cracking open a soda. "You want him to prove to you that he's not a loser, so you can justify obsessing over him. Again."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I'm going out."

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Daria slammed the door behind her and Trent stuck his head up. Still standing in the kitchen, Jane's eyes grew wide. "Um, were you awake?"

"Yeah."

"For all of that?"

"Yeah."

"Oops."

Trent rolled off the couch and went to stand by his sister. He looked down at the jobs Daria had circled. Busboy. Janitor. Dishwasher. "You two think I'm a loser."

"That's a very strong word Trent."

"I'm not a loser." He grabbed the paper and squeezed it until the folds were digging sharply into his palm.

"Of course you're not-" Jane started, but he was already slamming out the door. Trent wasn't used to storming out in anger (it took too much effort) but this was a special occasion. He walked to the front of the house and looked down the street, catching sight of Daria turning a corner on a vintage bicycle. And then it registered in his slow brain the part of the conversation he almost missed. 'So you can justify obsessing over him' Jane had said. 'Again.' [ Again? ]

He looked at the spot where Daria had turned the corner. No one had ever obsessed over him before. Except _she_ had. When she was a kid she'd been shy around him for a long time, he remembered. More than once he thought it was too bad she was too young. [ She's not too young now. ] That was definitely not a kid under that t-shirt. There might be some interest there… [ But she thinks you're a loser. And she's right. ]

He looked down at the newspaper he was still holding in his hand. A few of the ads were for places he'd seen on the Strip where Jane and Daria had taken him the night before. [ I could work there, ] he thought. [ That place was cool. ] He glanced across the street at his car, but he had a feeling he wasn't supposed to be driving. He was pretty sure he needed to walk. Walking took effort. He could do that.

By the time he made it to the Strip he was second guessing the whole walking thing. It was really hard work. Instead of looking for a job he walked into the first bar he saw and bought a beer. It's dark gloom comforted him. It was afternoon so the place was fairly subdued, but there was a stage in the back corner and the place was littered with posters advertising a band playing that weekend. If he had a band he could perform there. That would prove to Daria that he could be somebody.

Not that he had to prove anything to anyone, but he had a sort of sick feeling that didn't go away with alcohol. No band, no home, and his sister and her best friend thought he was a nobody.

He took his time with the beer because he didn't have any money for another, and after that he stared at the well varnished counter, knowing he should get up and do something but not wanting to. Finally he left, walking slowly down the streets. It was early evening at that point and the sky was turning pink. He noticed Daria's bike chained to a tree outside one of those café bookstores. Peering in the window he could see her sitting at a table with a cup of coffee, talking to some blond dork in a sweater vest. That was the kind of guy Daria needed to be with. Someone dependable and successful. Not him.

He hurried away, wondering at how much that hurt. It wasn't as though he had ever pined away with her and Jane gone away. But funny how he had ended up on their doorstep instead of Wind's or Summer's. He remembered thinking, Daria and Jane. They're cool. They'll take me in. Maybe he should forget about this whole job thing and just go stay with Wind-Trent was pretty sure he was between wives at the moment. Trent sat down on a bus stop bench. Somewhere someone was playing saxophone music, and he looked around until he found the source. Across the street a lone teenager with dreadlocks stood under a street lamp with his instrument case open at his feet. As Trent watched someone threw some change into the case. "Hey," Trent said, perking up. The kid wasn't bad-Trent was almost as good. While he watched a few more people dropped change. One guy even threw the kid a dollar.

"That I can do," he said, getting up with newfound energy.

He turned around and headed back towards Daria and Jane's place. Lost in his own thoughts, he nearly walked past Daria, who was unlocking her bike. "Trent?"

"Oh, hey Daria," he said. [ Obsessed? ] "I was just scouting the place out. So this is where you hang?"

"Yeah. I like the coffee."

Trent glanced through the window-the blond guy was gone. "I bet all the brains hang out there. I saw you earlier-who was that guy?" Why did he ask her that?

"Lee's a friend. He lives across the street with his boyfriend."

"Oh. Cool." Well, that was comforting.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Daria spoke. "So did you have a good nap?"

"Yeah, you know. Gearing up for the big job hunt and all." He wanted her to approve of him, he discovered. It had to be the t-shirt, he decided. She leaned over to fight the bike lock open and wrapped it under the seat. She had _definitely_ grown up in the last three years. That made a big difference. He waited until she had freed her bicycle and they walked together down the sidewalk. "I am going to get a job. Really."

"I believe you," she said, and he searched for a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but found none.

"Janey doesn't think so. But I've changed Daria, really I have."

"Who are you trying to convince?" she asked him.

He laughed, ending in a cough. "You're smart, aren't you?"

"Just a little," she admitted.

"So what are you going to school for?"

"Creative writing, but I've dabbled in a little bit of everything."

"What kind of job will that get you?" he asked, knowing that wouldn't exactly put her on the corporate fast track.

"I'm going to teach."

"But I thought you didn't like people."

Beside him Daria sighed. "I guess I really just want to write. But I've been so busy with school and work I've barely had the time." She sighed again.

"I've always done exactly what I wanted."

"I know you have. Does that make you happy?"

"Most of the time. You should try it."

"Yeah, but without my job I wouldn't have a roof over my head."

"Is that a dig?"

"No, just an observation."

Observations could cut like a knife. [ Your observation cuts like a knife/it's giving me strife/it's my way of life….might have something there. ] "Some things are more important than money."

"Like eating."

"And art." She stopped walking and stared at him for so long he started to get uncomfortable. "Um, Daria?"

"Sorry. Thinking." They started walking again. "Jane is making a living with her art."

"I know. She's lucky."

"She works hard at it."

"You work hard."

"Yeah, I do."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

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Daria was very aware of Trent next to her as they walked, and wanted to die. First she had told him about Lee-Lee wasn't out to very many people, and now she had just given away his secret just so Trent wouldn't think he was her boyfriend. That made her feel rotten. And then Trent bringing up the whole art thing. She was going to bury herself at the university for the sake of a comfortable life, teaching idiots something that couldn't be taught. After several semesters of writing classes she had learned that. Either you had it or you didn't. You could get better-but only if the instinct was there to begin with. She had it. And she was wasting it.

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Back at the apartment Daria left Trent downstairs and found Jane in her studio. She sat at her desk practicing tattoos on a banana. "I'm a sell out," Daria announced, sitting in a beanbag chair under the window.

"You are? I thought you were an intellectual."

"I've sold out to the university. I'm spending all my time doing menial tasks for Professor Nelson, and reading horrible stories from people who are just in the class for an easy A. I'm too drained to work on my own stuff at the end of the night."

"O-kay."

"I'm caring about the money instead of the art."

Jane groaned. "You've been talking to my brother. He's been here twenty-four hours and your world has been turned upside-down. You like your job. It's easy."

"And soul-sucking." "Well, don't even think about quitting. Until I get certified I can't cover the rent on my own."

"I won't," Daria said. "I'm too responsible for that. Maybe that's my problem."

"Nope. You're doing good. Tenure, remember?"

"Right. Tenure."

Later that night she lay awake again, listening to Trent play. He kept stopping and starting, and she couldn't quite make out the lyrics he was mumbling to himself. A new song. Even Trent created every once and a while. Daria got up and went over to the computer.

She didn't care how tired she was. She was going to write.

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Trent got up when he heard Daria and Jane moving around in the morning. He hoped for more bacon and eggs, but Daria was groggy as she ate her cereal, sliding the box over to him. "You okay?" he asked.

She groaned and nodded. "Up all night working."

"Yeah. Me too."

"No, I outlasted you. You stopped strumming around one."

"When did you go to bed?" Jane demanded.

"Sometime around three?"

"Impressive."

"I'm paying for it now," Daria said, sliding off her stool to get more coffee, and refilled Jane and Trent's mugs while she was at it. In her disheveled state her glasses were crooked on her face, and Trent reached out and straightened them on impulse.

He hid a smile as she blushed and ducked her head. Trent wrapped his hands around the warm mug and looked at her. She was dressed in a blue sweater and knee-length skirt that hid her new body more than he liked, and she had forgotten to brush her hair. He wondered how grown up she really was. Had she gone out on dates? Had sex? Her innocence was why he hadn't been interested before, but she was too old to be innocent now, so if she still was he supposed he should help out with that.

Trent finished breakfast and disappeared into the bathroom to shower. By the time he emerged the girls were gone. "To work," he said, picking up his guitar and heading out the door.

Something about Boston made Trent want to walk, and he looked at the houses as he passed, the other people on the street-there were more people using their feet or bicycles in Boston than Lawndale. The neighborhood was beautiful, and the people were varied and interesting. He made his way to the Strip with his acoustic guitar, opened the case on the ground and began to play.

At first nothing happened, but after half an hour someone dropped a few coins in the case, and then someone else a while later. A guy coming out of one of the bars stopped and listened to the last chords of "Icebox Woman."

"Classic sound," he commented before moving on, dropping a quarter into the case. Trent held his pick still on the strings. Classic? When had his music become classic? He really was getting old. Trent looked down at his case. Two dollars. After two hours out in the sun. He sighed and scooped up the money and packed away his guitar. Their had to be an easier way to make some cash.

In the bar Trent put the handful of change on the counter. "Whatever I can get for this." The bartender smirked and scooped up the coins before handing Trent half a glass of cheap beer. "Working sure doesn't get you far," he mused as he drank his beer. The bar was soothing and dark and cool-not like out there in the hot sun, where no one appreciated his art and only gave him two stinking dollars.

"I heard you playing out there," the bartender said. "It takes me back to when I was in high school. Good stuff."

"Thanks," Trent said. "I don't think people are really appreciating it. It does sound better when I have a band."

"This is a university neighborhood. They're into artsy singer-songwriter stuff. You know."

Trent wished he did.

"You should check out some of the stuff that goes on at the coffee house-that's what flies around here. Not that you should change your sound. It's a good sound. Get a band together and I can talk to my boss."

"Thanks man," Trent said.

He sat around the bar a while longer before heading over to check out the coffee house the bartender suggested. When he got there he found Daria at a table by the window, typing on her laptop. He hesitated, but finally entered, sitting down at her table. "Hey Daria."

She looked up, eyes growing wide when she saw who was sitting with her. He'd always liked the deer-in-headlights look she got around him sometimes. "Hi Trent."

"What are you doing?"

"Working on my novel."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I thought about what you said, and you're right. I don't know if I'm quite ready to give up on the idea of grad school, but I shouldn't let it get in the way of what really matters."

"Art?"

"Yes. There's no reason why I can't do both if I work hard and apply myself."

"I'm glad," he said, getting up again. "I won't bother you any more. I'll see you back home later."

"Sure." She called after him as he headed towards the door. "Hey Trent? Thanks."

He forced a smile and left. Janey was right. He wasn't good enough for Daria, and never would be if he couldn't learn how to apply himself. He walked a few blocks, away from the coffee house before making up his mind.

It was later in the day and there were more people wandering up and down the Strip. He got his guitar out and opened the case again, and, after a few false starts, he began to play the tune of the commercial jingle he wrote a few years ago, leaving out the lyrics. He'd done upbeat before. He could do it again.

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Once she got started, Daria realized she couldn't stop. The words were pouring from her brain to her fingers to her laptop. If she didn't need to be on campus she wasn't, and her usual nine hours of sleep was diminishing to about six. In the mornings she was as out of it as the Lanes. She noticed that Trent was getting up with them, and he wasn't on the couch when she got home either. She didn't know where he was, but he didn't seem to be telling. He also loaded the dishwasher every day and kept his couch tidy.

Daria was still awake at one in the morning on Friday night, drinking from a mug of cold coffee as she typed away. The apartment was quiet, so she jumped when her door creaked open. "Ack!"

Jane poked her head into the room. "Okay Morgendorffer, what's going on?"

"I'm working."

"You're killing yourself. You and Trent have both been acting weird."

"Yeah, well," Daria said, not quite sure what she was going to say. "We had a pretty intense conversation a few days ago."

"I knew he'd be a bad influence on you."

"Nobody influences me. I do what I want to do."

"Which is?"

"Writing my novel."

"Okay," Jane said. "Think you could take a break tomorrow to hang out with me? I've barely seen you all week, and one of my professors is having a show at the Blue Gallery. I thought we could go."

"Yeah. Sure."

"And I figured, everyone is still up and you haven't eaten all day, so I sent Trent out to get some pizza. Come out of your cocoon and have a slice."

"Okay, sure."

Jane left, and Daria got up and stretched. She had a rough outline and was finishing up chapter five. She was getting somewhere.

When she emerged Jane was digging into the pizza already, but Trent was holding back, waiting for her?

She stepped up to the counter to snag a slice of pepperoni, Trent stepping up beside her. "Daria?"

"Yes?"

"Here." He held his hands cupped and closed only to dump a large pile of change and a few crumpled bills on the counter in front of her. A penny rolled off the edge and hit the floor. "It's only thirty-two dollars and thirty-seven cents, but I'll do better next week."

"What is this?" she asked, slightly shocked at the pile of coins.

"My rent. I don't want to be a freeloader."

Jane spoke up. "Wow Trent, what did you do, take up robbing parking meters?"

Trent frowned, and Daria spoke quickly. "Thanks Trent. This will help a lot."

"No problem," he said. "I think I'm going to go out a little bit before the bars close. 'Night you two."

"What the hell is this?" Jane wondered, staring at the money.

"He's trying," Daria said, unable to keep a small smile off her face.

"You don't think he's taken up begging, do you?"

"Maybe they're tips," Daria offered.

"I'd like to see my brother waiting tables."

"I'm sure he'll tell us what he's doing when he's ready." Daria grabbed a plate and loaded it up with pizza, and grabbed a can of the most caffeinated cola they had. "I need to get back to work."

00000

Trent felt really good giving Daria all that money, and was slightly annoyed at Jane for making fun of him for it. She didn't understand-she had a job. He carried his guitar with him everywhere now, and he walked everywhere. He was really getting to know the neighborhood and more importantly, the neighborhood was beginning to know him. He noticed that the longer he played, the more money he received, usually from the same group of people. Instead of going to the bars he set up in front of them, hoping to make a few bucks.

The next day he found his way to the tattoo parlor where Jane was working. She wasn't an actual tattoo artist yet, so she could only work the counter and sell body jewelry and t-shirts with the shop's name printed on them, "Rebel Ink."

Jane was behind the counter, going over a book of designs with a young woman. "The butterfly on the ankle is always a classic," Jane was saying, "But I'll design you something cool for twenty bucks." She pulled the notebook away and brought out a black binder, the words "Jane Lane: her work" painted across the cover. When Jane saw him she left the girl to her own devices to say hello.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

"It wasn't nice of you to hassle me in front of Daria."

"Where did you get the money?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I earned it. You know, like a job?"

"Really earned it? For real."

"Of course."

She smiled. "I'm proud of you, big brother."

"I'm going to do better. I was hoping you could make me some posters. I'm going to start up another band. I even have a lead on a gig."

She raised her eyebrows. "You _are_ being industrious."

"Yeah," he said. "See, I'm not worthless."

"I never said you were."

"But you did say I wasn't good enough for Daria."

Jane shrugged. "No guy is good enough for her in my eyes. You can't take it personally. So you like her, huh?" He shrugged, non-committal. But his sister knew him too well. "You two crazy kids-fine, do whatever you want. If it falls apart, don't come crying to me." It was her way of giving her blessing.

"Thanks Janey."

"Daria and I are going to an art show at the Blue Gallery tonight. Want to come?"

"Sorry," he said with a smile. "I have to work."

Jane shook her head. "She's created a monster."

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Daria met Jane at Rebel Ink and they walked together to the Blue Gallery. There were two art shows opening that evening and the entire Strip had made a mini festival over it. The sidewalks were crowded with people, street vendors, and street performers. Through the growing din Daria thought she made out the dulcet tones of a Mystic Spiral song. Except the Spiral had never been dulcet, and there was no possible way-

"Trent?" Across the street she spotted Trent standing in front of a gallery, playing a slow, acoustic version of 'Icebox Woman,' slightly re-tuned but still recognizable. "What is he doing?"

Jane grabbed her by the hand and started to pull her across the street. "Let's find out."

As they approached they noticed that a few people had actually stopped to listen to the song, and some passers-by actually tossed money into his guitar case. His mystery job was revealed. The song came to a close and he looked up at them. "Hey you two."

"You're a street performer?" Jane asked.

"It's called busking," he said, sounding proud that he'd learned a new word. "I'm an artist." He turned away from Jane and looked at Daria. He had his lost puppy expression on. He wanted her approval.

She had to try not to laugh. Of course Trent would consider this a real job. But he was trying, and she found that endearing. "I like the changes to the song," she offered.

"It was mostly dumping the lyrics," he admitted. "I'm not really a poet."

"No," she admitted. "You're not Shakespeare. But the music really is good."

"Thanks. Well, better get back to work." He smiled and started on a new song. Daria smiled too, and dropped a dollar in the case before she and Jane moved on.

"He thinks he's doing good," Jane said.

"He is doing good," Daria answered. "Good by him."

"Yeah. You're right. We can't really expect him to go become some big CEO, can we?"

"I wouldn't want him to."

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Daria and Jane got home before Trent and Daria retreated into her room, but not before Jane stopped her. "He likes you too, you know," Jane said. Daria stared. "He always did-I dunno why he never made a move."

"And you've been hiding this for five years because?"

"I didn't want you to get hurt. But I'll stop pestering you about him. I know when I'm beat."

"Thank you."

Jane faked a yawn. "Well, I'm off to bed. See you in the morning, Amiga."

"Okay."

Daria sat down at her desk and turned on her computer, but the words didn't come to her. She just stared at the screen. She heard the door open as Trent came in, and she felt the blush rising in her face. She wanted to go to him, but couldn't quite get past the embarrassment. Eventually he began to play something, stopping frequently and muttering to himself, words she couldn't quite understand through the layers of wall separating them.

She played with the idea of going out there, professing her attraction, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Finally she settled on pretending she wanted a glass of water, and found him holding his guitar and leaning over the coffee table, piled high with some of her school books from the case by the TV.

"What are you up to?" she couldn't help but ask.

"I borrowed a few of your books-I hope that's okay. What you said earlier made me think, that's all. About poetry."

"Poetry?" She came around to his side of the couch. Her 'Mammoth book of Shakespeare' was open to the Sonnets. "You're trying to put Shakespeare's words to music?"

"I thought it would appeal to the intelligent, artsy people who hang out on the Strip, strum up more business." He paused. "I know it's not what I'm used to doing, and I don't want to stop playing alternative music, but this stuff isn't half bad, what I understand anyway. Some of it is kind of sexy."

"Yeah, it is." She sat down next to him. "It's a good idea."

"You gave it to me. When I finish this I'll play it for you, and you can tell me what you think."

"Well. Thank you for thinking of me."

"Daria," he said. "Ever since I came here I've been thinking about you a lot."

"I find that hard to believe," Daria said, trying to pretend her heart wasn't accelerating in her chest. She looked at her lap so she wouldn't meet his eyes, unsure of what she would do if she did.

"Why?"

"I'm just your kid sister's friend."

"You were never _just_ anything," he assured. "I've never had anything but the most respect for you, Daria."

She jumped when his hand touched her cheek, and she let him lift her face to his. "Really?"

"If I didn't, I would have done this a long time ago."

And then he was kissing her, _kissing_ her, his lips warm against hers, his mouth tasting slightly of soda. It was so impossible-she pulled away like she had been shocked. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't-I didn't-do you know how long I've been waiting for that?" He put his hand on her arm and she realized she was shaking.

"I'm guessing a while." He was smiling, but Daria did not find herself the least bit comforted by this good sign. She was in some bizarre other-world, like bad fiction. She never got what she wanted-and yet here he was.

"Try since the first time we met," she said, feeling horrifyingly honest. "I stamped it down for a long time, but it never really went away."

"Is that good or bad?" he asked, a concerned look on his face.

"At the moment, it's good."

"Good. Can I kiss you again?"

"Why?"

"Because you weren't the only one waiting for this."

She took his guitar out of his arms and set it gently on the floor before throwing herself at him-there were moments for restraint, but this was not one of them. He let out a dull 'ouf' sound as he connected with the arm rest, but she ignored it, kissing him with more passion than she had ever mustered up for anyone, shifting her body to cover his. She pulled at his t-shirt to get her hands underneath and he started to laugh against her lips. "What?" she demanded.

"I figured we'd be the other way around, that's all. Guess you're not so innocent after all."

"I never was," she said, but they both knew it was a lie. "Is that why? Why you treated me like a kid?"

"I didn't-I just didn't want to be the one to ruin you. I had commitment issues back then."

"And you don't now?"

"Dunno. But if I do, I know now you can handle it. Daria, I never asked you out because I didn't want to hurt you. You were too young, too inexperienced. I mean, sex-"

"Would have terrified me," she said. "Still, it would have been nice to know you at least noticed me."

"I'm noticing you now." He pushed her off him gently. "Interested in going to your bedroom?"

Jane woke up a little before noon the next morning, still half-asleep as she made her way to the bathroom. After she did her business and splashed her face with cold water she woke up a little, and realized that Daria wasn't awake yet. This had to be a first-usually Daria was waking _her_ up.

Her brain still a little fuzzy, Jane opened Daria's door without knocking. "Hey Morgendorffer, rise and shine. I-" She froze. Instead of just Daria looking up at her with complete annoyance, Trent's sleepy face greeted her as well. "My eyes!" Jane yelled to cover her embarrassment, quickly shutting the door. She went into the living room and collapsed on the couch before bursting into giggles. It was about time those two figured things out.

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End file.
